When Brown Eyes Turn Blue
by Digital Tempest
Summary: Warm brown eyes that once belied the cool demeanor that she presented had finally gave way to the cold that touched her soul. A companion piece to “Control Lost,” but not necessarily a sequel. You don’t have to read that fic to get this story. PostX3.


**Summary: **Warm brown eyes that once belied the cool demeanor that she presented had finally gave way to the cold that touched her soul. A companion piece to "Control Lost," but not necessarily a sequel. You don't have to read that fic to get this story. Post-X3.

**Foreword:** So, admittedly, my first post-X3 fic focused on Magneto and Mystique, and Mags and Myst fics have been my staple in regards to the 3rd movie. I didn't think I had anything to say for post-X3 Ororo and Logan. Something changed… or else, I wouldn't be posting this story. I re-read my post-X2 fic, "Control Lost," that I posted just before X3 came out. Re-read my 50 sentences (yeah, the same ones that inspired some of The Spider and the Fly), became obsessed with She Wants Revenge and Aidan Hawken. Decided that I did have something to say. More of my psychological meanderings because I think my short stories reflect that best.

**Song lyrics used:** "_Crush"_ by Aidan Hawken. Inspiration came from She Wants Revenge's self-titled CD, E.S. Posthumus' CD _Unearthed_, The Killers' CD _Hot Fuss_, and Aidan Hawken's CD _Pillows & Records_. I also have to give Tan Dun and Govinda some credit as well. So, if you're looking for mood music, there you go.

**_When Brown Eyes Turn Blue_**  
_by Tempest_

_**I. Five Minute Friend**  
I need some excuse just to come talk to you  
Be my five minute friend  
You know I've got time to spend  
I hope you don't mind that I've come to see you_

Logan was starting to worry. Ororo hadn't been outside the Professor's study—strike that, _her study_—for hours. She missed dinner, _again_, but she did that often these days. Sometimes, he had to plead with her to join them, to talk to them, to be more than the headmistress and their leader. He found her hunched over a book, the room shrouded in the cruelest touch of winter—deathly cold and uninviting. Cracked ice even frosted the windows. He rubbed his hand over his arms, trying to ward off the chill, wondering if she was aware of what she was doing to the room.

Ororo was all seriousness and narrowing eyes. Her mouth pulled into a line that made all her soft features harden considerably. It was a far cry from the woman who'd cause a chill to travel his spine when she ran her opaque nails over his arm. She closed the book with a harried sigh, placing it back on the desk. She ran her hair tersely through her hair. It didn't really do anything but displace more hair.

She sat, twisting her chair to and fro, as she ran one finger across her cracked bottom lip. Red-rimmed eyes stared at nothing in particular, and Logan's fingers itched to reach out and smooth the stray strands of hair that refused to be tamed by her own hand. She didn't seem to be aware of much—least of all him. He could see her mentally figuring, the cogs in her brain turning at a furious pace under the strain of everything.

Not many people saw her this way—troubled and overworked. No one would argue that she wasn't doing a good job with the role that was forced on her in light of recent events. She held up better than he thought she would, and he had chided himself on doubting she could handle this burden with anything but dignity. Determination made her strong.

She stopped turning the chair abruptly; her eyes finally focused on him. When she spoke, her words were soft, but clear. "Get out, _please_." Each word was a separate sentence, an icicle being hurled to chase him away. Ororo's stern look told Logan she wouldn't engage in any conversation with him.

It always startled him somewhat when she looked at him these days, even if he didn't show it. Warm brown eyes that once belied the cool demeanor that she presented had finally gave way to the cold that touched her soul. Eyes as blue as the evening sky frothed with command—threatening to chill and destroy.

She'd told the others that she was wearing contacts, wanted to try something new, like she'd done with that two-toned, monochrome hair. Only he knew the truth, had seen it the day it happened, while she suffered from one of those headaches she got a lot lately. Locked away in the dark recesses of the study that day, she had cupped her head between her head as hard currents of pain seemed to pulse from her to him.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he pushed despite her tone, putting that day back on its shelf. He sat in the chair across from her, trying to make her catch his eye. She wouldn't. She'd look in his general direction, and then back down at the papers on her desk.

She worked hard at trying to present hope to the outside world, even though she'd taken some flack from people who thought they were better suited to take over in Charles' death. However, she was always immaculate when she left the safety of her study, but behind the closed doors, she allowed the weight of the world to force her shoulders into a sad slump. There was always something that needed to be done. Teachers had to be hired, meals had to be planned, critics needed to be set straight, and cities had to be saved.

Last week, she had to fire one of the teachers—a spy planted by the Hellfire Club. Ororo had backhanded the man so hard across the face that even Logan winced at the sound of her hand cracking his jaw. Then, she turned her back and told the emissary in her coldest voice that he had three seconds to get off the mansion grounds or she'd send him home more dead than alive.

Even though the man fled from the room as quick as his feet could carry him, she'd walked to the window and waited patiently until she saw his retreating figure ripping up the walk. Then, as unforgiving as an angered goddess, he watched her transform the sky into a testament of her wrath, but he hadn't been the one to protest her anger before she could do something she regretted. He hadn't been the one who gathered her in his arms when she slumped in a fury of tears. All this happened in the privacy of the study; the study allowed her to show her brutality, something he saw more of these days.

This week, she enforced rigid, extensive background checks on all new hires—background checks that she added to her already endless pile of things that "had to be done." She was reluctant to pass of any of her duties to him and the other teachers. And yesterday, he'd heard her speaking softly on the phone about Charles' will with their lawyer. He heard mention of a son Charles might've had and that they couldn't afford to lose the mansion. Legal troubles—that was the last thing they needed.

"Logan, please… not now," she pleaded, her voice softening even more. "I missed dinner. I know. I really didn't mean to. It's just that I have so much that I have to do. I'm waiting for the lawyer to call back. I have to return applicant calls. There's paperwork I have to finish by tomorrow. I'm swamped."

"Or maybe you just want an excuse to be busy," he challenged.

He figured it was easier for her to keep herself busy than to really face the reality of the situation, or maybe it was the reality of the situation that kept her busy. She did have things she needed to tend to, but she never seemed to give herself a break. There was always a whirlwind of urgency surrounding her. Things had to be done _right now_, this very second, or the world was going to end. And she left no room for debate about it.

She looked at him sharply. "I'd thank you if you kept your opinions to yourself." She picked up a pen and began to write furiously on some document or another, stabbing the crisp paper brutally with her pen.

"You work too hard," he said, reaching across the desk, covering her hands with his own.

"Someone has got to do it," she countered, pulling away from him gently. She continued writing, as if the conversation ended right there.

"That's what we're all here for." There was Alex Summers and his wife, Lorna, who'd come to do what they could to keep the school running in the wake of Scott's death. Ororo hired a doctor, Cecilia Reyes, a week earlier on Hank's recommendation. She talked to Kurt the day before, and chances were good that he'd be back soon. And then there was…

"None of you have deep ties to the school as I do, _including_ you." She placed her pen back on the desk and caught his eye. Her expression was unreadable. Nothing but her sternness pulled through. _That_ was what this was about.

He was the one who wanted to look away this time. He could feel her daring him to say she was wrong. "That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is waking up to find out that you're gone _again_ because _she_ still haunts you. That's what's not fair, Logan. And I," she paused closing her eyes for a moment, "I don't have the option of running when I'm good and damn ready, and I have to have people I can rely on."

"You don't think you can rely on me?" he said. This wasn't the first time she'd hinted at that fact, but this was the first time she'd been a little more direct with her accusation. Most of the time, she camouflaged her thoughts with safe words that wouldn't set him off. _Oh… you know Logan—always on the go_. That was her code for: _He has a hard time being committed to anything or anybody_.

He could see her mull over her words carefully, those cogs spinning in overtime, as she opened her eyes again. "I trust you—"

"But you don't think I'm reliable," he said angrily, cutting her short.

"I didn't say that," she said with a wry smile that made him want to rip something apart. He hated that passive-aggressive bullshit, and she was the master of it. Soulless, emotionless, it had little to do with her control and more to do with her ability to play dead when it came to him.

"Then, what are you sayin'?" he demanded.

"Nothing, I'm not saying anything. Can we just let this go?" She dismissed him with a wave of her fragile hand, spurning his anger as if it were nothing more than a nuisance.

"No, you got somethin' you wanna say to me." He'd rather she just get it all off her chest because they'd been working around each other like some kind of stump that couldn't be rooted up.

"I'm just stressed and talking without thinking. Please, accept my apology." She said without a hint of remorse.

"Why does everything have to be about us?" he asked with a shake of his head.

He heard her pull a short breath between her teeth. "Everything isn't about us because there is no us. You made that quite clear, Logan," she said through her clenched teeth.

Before he was allowed to collect his thoughts on that statement, the door to the study opened. A small—yet genuine—smile covered her face as the person came in, bearing a plate of food that steamed like it'd come straight off the stove. _Suck up_, Logan muttered to himself. She turned her blue eyes toward Logan with a self-satisfied smirk playing in them. He stood from his seat, leaving the study without another word.

_Cause there's someone else  
And he's got your name, yeah_

———

**Author's Notes:** I'm hopeless when it comes to NOT starting new stories. But this is just a short story, and unlike "The Spider and the Fly," this one is finished and going through revisions. It's currently five chapters long, and hopefully, it won't grow beyond that. Mistakes will be fixed with time.


End file.
